I always walk in a loop, returning again and again to the same dreams, treading the same gravel with my bare feet. The rest of my body is no more clothed, for I am naked in front of the uncertain, cold among the cold.
I can’t tell if it’s anxiety or a dream. Life, all in all, is going quite well. Yet I feel uneasy, foggy, thirsty. I could say that this is a bourgeois discomfort. If I were faced with necessity, I would have neither the time nor the intelligence to turn over the stones of the many hypotheses that revolve around my sunny mind.
I walk, and I search, and I feel pushed like all of us towards the zero point, the singularity, the place of no return, the centre of nothingness.
A few hundred thousand years ago, after the dinosaurs had completely dried up, our species appeared after the mammals had had their fun. Its conscience, a big deal, pushed it to unattainable heights. By some trick of Nature, but we don’t know how it awakened or revealed itself to God one day.
Suddenly, Adam and Eve discovered themselves naked. Shame, it is said, seized them. I don’t believe this. This story is undoubtedly a symbol, but above all, it is a lie, like all the rest of the many pages accumulated by madmen who thought they were closer to God than insects and bacteria were long before them.
Shame came much later, mainly to hide the fear of knowing and wanting behind a swollen pride. The pity of pretending to be able to survive better, the shame of surprising ourselves by not understanding the logic behind our reasons and our actions.
The shame of letting your fellow man die because you don’t have the power to defeat fate.
It is living inside a vortex, an archetypal DNA. You walk without knowing where and when your journey ends. The thirst for learning does not wane. Our discomfort feeds our quest, and we stubbornly sigh with ease for each pleasure of living that the hours grant us.
This is how our lives are made, without us being able to agree on what is worth living for. Is this the fault of our ignorance, our unconsciousness? It is understandable that if God is an invention, he/she is only made in our image, therefore imperfect, evolving and possibly on the way to extinction.
If a design is written in the sky, it is still too early in our little minds to know its author. May humanity resists vertigo it feels in the face of this fog. May it finally open its eyes and undertake everything with love and reverie. In the meantime, we must survive.